


Litania tries Orlesian "cheese"

by FunkyPumpkin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair likes odd things, F/M, gross cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyPumpkin/pseuds/FunkyPumpkin
Summary: She loves Alistair very much, but damn he needs to work on his tastes. Inspired by a 5 minute writing prompt in a Facebook group - "the heat of his breath lingered on my neck" It went over 5 minutes, but, eh.





	Litania tries Orlesian "cheese"

The heat of his breath lingers on her neck. A tiny shudder overtakes her frame as he leans in, his mouth tantalizingly close to her ear. She can feel the warmth from his body on her back as he reaches around her to prop his hands on the edge of the table. Her eyes squeeze shut, breath catching in her throat.

  
"Really Alistair? Is this entirely necessary?”

  
“Of course,” comes a coarse murmur so close she can feel the vibration of it. She folds her arms tightly over her chest as he looms even closer.

"I-I'm just not sure about this,” she remarks as she squirms a bit, searching for an escape route. There was none to be found in the cage of his powerful arms. Why had she let him convince her of this? He leans closer yet, and oh so slowly picks *it* up from the table. Fingertips lightly brush her neck as he skims her hair back.

“How do you know you won't like it if you never try it? It's Orlesian, and even I must admit they do know their way around these things. Come on. Now, before you lose your nerve,” he coaxes and runs his thumb over her bottom lip. She lets out a small whimper and obediently parts her lips.

  
“Good girl,” he whispers in a tone that would normally melt her. Not right then, though. She simply tenses even more, bracing herself. The spoon, along with its contents, are on her tongue before she knows what's happening. In response she immediately lurches forward, gagging and pounding the table with the side of her fist. The offending object plops out of her mouth in what she would normally find a humiliating display. Right now her pride was the last thing on her mind. All that mattered was getting the offending flavor out. It tasted the way a long dead rodent smelled, and that was saying nothing of the texture. She hears the frustrated groan he lets out, along with the unmistakable laughter of a certain elven assassin who was enjoying this torture session a little too much.

  
“Oh come on, it's not that bad,” Alistair whines as his voice goes up an octave. He quickly backpedals as he delivers that sentiment, and rightly so as he just barely dodges a forceful kick she aims back at him. Several long seconds of hacking and gasping later she whips a resentful glare over her shoulder.

  
"Alistair, it's more pleasant to be in an enclosed space with Oghren's well used and never washed socks than it is to have that monstrosity you call cheese anywhere near me,” she growls as she snatches the strongest red wine present off the table. After several generous swigs that would nearly make the aforementioned dwarf proud of her, she can still taste it but it's not the cloying fog of foulness that had been overwhelming all of her senses. She could almost swear that if it had remained any longer she would have fainted. She had been correct in assuming that the hint of it upon his lips when he tried to kiss her earlier was something to be reviled, but even that couldn't compare to the true horror of the foetid thing on his plate. She refused to call it food.

  
"You aren't so much as holding my hand until it's been a minimum of a week since you've last consumed that vile substance,” she commands in a tone that brooks no argument. He slumps his shoulders and looks away from her with a long suffering sigh.

  
“You just have to get used to it, give it a chance,” he grumbles as he pouts but accepts his fate. She simply makes a rude gesture as she snatches up the bottle again and stalks away from them both. That draws an even more sadistically delighted laugh from Zevran, and she retaliates by pitching an accurately aimed fruit at his head. It's a testament to how distracted he was by their antics that it actually makes contact. He drops to the ground and lolls about, bemoaning that he's been wounded. She simply rolls her eyes and takes another massive drink. At the sound of Alistair calling Barkspawn, she turns back to watch with a skeptical glower. She observes with growing amusement and approval as he offers it for inspection and her mabari subsequently falls into a violent sneezing fit. Indignant sounds from Alistair were drowned out by the yelping and whimpering of the fleeing canine.

  
“Oh, come off it! This can not be worse than all the other things you slobber on. I saw you yesterday, remember. Come back!” He continues shouting and begging as he proceeds to chase the dog in laps around the camp before giving up. She simply shakes her head as he dramatically slumps over and walks reluctantly into the woods to dump the poisonous blob. She feels eyes on her and looks up to find Morrigan regarding her with equal parts pity, amusement, and disdain.

  
“You chose that as your mate,” she states simply. Her tone delivers the rest of the message.

  
"Ugh, Maker, I know. I'm seriously questioning that now, to be honest,” she moans as she flings her head back to take another long swig. A quiet chuckle and a whisper of movement lets her know that Morrigan has elected to leave her to her suffering. Likely because she can smell its presence from where she was standing. On top of tasting like that, it was rank even from an unreasonable distance. She drops her arm over her eyes and leans back to suffer through the lingering aroma. Truly, moments like this made her wonder if Morrigan was right about him. Sensing his return, she glances up only to find her breath arrested half way in her throat. The way the firelight plays over his features, the suppleness to his movements...no, Morrigan isn't entirely correct. She wouldn't change how she feels about him for anything.

  
He certainly has a substandard palate though.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave critiques. I'm only just now getting back into writing after quite a break and I'm rusty to say the least. :)


End file.
